


Bad Cop

by belmanoir



Series: Cops [2]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kowalski's been moping, and Vecchio will do what it takes to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Cop

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to everyone who voted for this fic in my 2008 Holiday Fic Poll (especially to snoopypez who's been excited about this story for a long time and who also stuffed the ballot box). It turned out to be harder to write than I expected, so I want to give extra-giant thanks to my wonderful betas, sionnain, nos4a2no9, and inseriatim, all of whom provided invaluable feedback and talked me through my fears about writing non-con for the first time. (inseriatim was also the very first person to think writing this story would be a good idea, way back when she was beta'ing "Good Cop," and her continued enthusiasm helped a ton.) Finally, thank you to mrs_laugh_track, whose reassurance after reading the rough draft gave me the courage to send this story to beta at all, and who let me steal her James Bond jokes. I love you all!

Ray sank down on the couch and channel-parasailed. Everything made him want to throw something. Fucking canned laughter and stupid jokes and incompetent hockey players who made more every year than Ray would see in his whole life and yet couldn't complete a fucking pass. Fuck TV anyway.

What he really wanted was to call Vecchio and bitch until he didn't feel so bottled up, and then lean back in his chair and close his eyes and listen to Vecchio's voice. Vecchio relaxed more on the phone. Same with stakeouts. Something about Ray not being able to see him made Vecchio's voice go all soft and sweet, and sometimes he'd actually tell Ray stuff.

But he couldn't call Vecchio, because he was playing it cool. Because this thing--well, it was convenient for Vecchio, and Ray wanted to keep it that way. 'Cause if it wasn't convenient anymore Christ knew what Vecchio would do. And Ray couldn't handle that. 

At first it had been great. He'd just floated on a cloud of sex and he-likes-me-he-likes-me and that look on Vecchio's face the morning after their first time. First time Ray'd ever seen Vecchio look really contented and relaxed about anything. Since that first day with Fraser at Hotel California, anyway. And to be frank there'd been something fake about that smile too.

But lately, even though everything had been going fine, Ray'd started to freak out. Because no matter how fine it was, it was never _enough._ Ray wanted more and more and more, wanted to go to sleep with Vecchio and wake up with Vecchio and borrow his turtlenecks and work on his car, wanted Vecchio to cook him dinner and leave suits in his closet and take him dancing. And if Ray asked for that--well, that had gone over _great_ with Stella and Fraser, hadn't it? 

Then of course Vecchio noticed he was freaking out, 'cause hiding that kind of thing, well, Ray was all-star at a lotta things but that wasn't one of them. So now he'd been asking, snooping around. And if Ray wasn't careful he was gonna snap and tell Vecchio exactly what was wrong, in detail.

He couldn't tell if it was just his need to be in love at all times, or if it was Vecchio. Vecchio with that fucking cross that dangled out of his collar at mind-bogglingly inappropriate times. Like when he was leaning over a perp to put the fear of God into them and it was really hard to care about a perp when Vecchio's cross was _glinting_ at him. When Vecchio's neck was _right there_. Vecchio had a real sensitive neck. Sometimes after a mob undercover assignment, when Vecchio was doing his catatonic kill-you-soon-as-look-at-you-if-he-could-only-focus-his-eyes shtick, Ray'd just lie on top of him and lick and suck and bite at his throat until Vecchio came alive under him, started to hum and say _please, Kowalski_ \--

Ray was in full-on Vecchio-meandering mode when the doorbell rang. _God, please let it not be Vecchio._ He'd been so fucking careful not to fuck this thing up. He'd been thoughtful and slow, he hadn't been needy or clingy or asked for too much too soon, and he just needed one fucking evening to not have to be careful all the fucking time. Was that so much to ask? 

He looked through the peephole. Fuck. He thought about pretending not to be there.

"Open up, Kowalski, I know you're in there," Vecchio yelled. "My arms are getting tired!"

Ray opened the door. Vecchio was holding a pizza and a six-pack. His heart sank. Vecchio coming over to hang was a major step, was something Ray wanted to encourage, but he just couldn't deal with being nice and normal right now. He cleared his throat. "Look, Vecchio," he said, "I, uh, this isn't really a good time. Maybe next week--"

Vecchio shoved past him and put the pizza down on the counter. "Hey, it's cool. I know you been having a rough week. You don't have to put out. I just figured we could hang out, maybe watch a game or something."

Ray gritted his teeth. "Look. I'm exhausted. I am dirty. I spent all day interviewing rodeo clowns. I'll be boring." Vecchio was rummaging through Ray's kitchen drawers for a bottle opener, looking like his hands belonged there in the middle of Ray's spoons and boxes of toothpicks and M&Ms, and Ray had to struggle to remember why this was a bad idea. "I'm sorry about the pizza, how much do I owe you?"

Vecchio opened a beer with an angry pop and handed it to him. "You don't owe me jack, Kowalski," he said. "Now tell me what the fuck's bothering you. You've been moping around for weeks now."

"Nothing's wrong!" Ray snapped. He set the beer down on the counter, hard. "What, something's gotta be wrong just because I don't want your sorry Italian ass on my couch for one night?" _Ooh, nice one, Ray._

Vecchio's mouth set. "You got a problem with me, Kowalski, you tell me. We're partners, we don't--" He broke off, fixing his frustrated gaze on Ray's face.

Vecchio was always saying that, "partners." Ray didn't know what to think about it. What did that mean to Vecchio? "I don't got a problem with you, Vecchio," he said as patiently as he could. "I just need some alone time. You know what that means? You want me to spell it for you? A-L-O-A--"

"Look," Vecchio said, leaning back against the counter and sounding like it was an effort not busting out and punching Ray in the gut, which, fair enough, Ray was being a jackass. "This isn't that thing where you act like a jackass because you want to break up with someone but you don't have the guts to tell them, so you hope if you're enough of a dick they'll do it for you, is it? Because if it is, just tell me. I promise I won't start throwing food at your head."

Apparently Vecchio had had some fights with Stella. Which brought on a whole 'nother bucket of scary, because Vecchio had lost Stella and it didn't seem to _bother_ him. And now, Vecchio was eying him with what looked like ordinary exasperation, like he could take this or leave it. Ray could _not_ give him a reason to leave it. Ray couldn't lose this, and he just wanted to snuggle up against Vecchio and bury his face in Vecchio's neck and not _think_.

"Is that a yes?" Vecchio sounded pissed now, and Ray realized he was just standing there with his mouth open staring at Vecchio's neck. 

He needed to sidestep this five-car pile-up of a conversation _now_. Lucky for him, he probably held the world record in distracting Vecchio. This was nothing he couldn't handle. 

He went back, shut the door and locked it. Widened his stance a little, stuck his thumbs in his belt. "No way, Vecchio. I'm not blowing you off. But if you wanted, I could blow you." 

Vecchio's eyes narrowed, but he prowled over to stand in front of Ray. "So are you gonna tell me what's wrong?"

He grinned wider, slouched and tilted his head back. "Nothing's wrong. In fact, a lot of things are about to be extremely right."

_Slam!_ Vecchio had him up against the door, his hands fisted in Ray's t-shirt. 

"Ow, my elbow," Ray said, pissed off. "That's gonna bruise, Vecchio."

Vecchio shrugged, the movement dragging Ray's t-shirt over his nipples. The treacherous little bastards stood up and took notice. "Okay, Kowalski. I want you to remember that I tried to do this the nice way." Vecchio shoved his knee between Ray's legs and kissed him.

Usually Ray tried really hard not to have angry sex with Vecchio. Because this wasn't just some release of tension, this wasn't getting off on a good fight. This was sex with his partner, sex with _Vecchio_. He wanted to make Vecchio feel good, and he wanted Vecchio to know that he wasn't into the Bookman. Which, he got the feeling, maybe Stella had been. 

But right now, angry sex sounded _great_. Vecchio seemed seriously motivated, his thigh was pushing rhythmically against Ray's dick just a little too hard and his tongue was committing some serious police brutality in Ray's mouth. And the smell of his flashy aftershave and cheap detergent and sweat was everywhere, in Ray's nose and mouth and lungs. 

It was like all the tension and anger and fear and everything that Ray'd been tamping down for weeks just _exploded_ into this giant fireball of lust, and he couldn't get enough. "Yeah," he panted when Vecchio came up for air, fumbling at the guy's zipper. "Pizza later. Fuck me now." 

Vecchio batted his hands away. "Bedroom," he said curtly.

Ray tried to fight his way out of the sex haze to give him a once-over, because Vecchio didn't usually talk like that when he wasn't doing Langoustini. But his whole face shifted when he did the Bookman, too, and it hadn't. It was just Vecchio. So this was okay, right? "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay." 

He let Vecchio push him backwards into his bedroom, kissing him the whole way, and shove him down on the bed. Vecchio was on top of him, his coat falling open to cover them like a blanket, and his arms on either side of Ray's, holding his hands above his head. Surrounding him and kissing him till the whole world narrowed down to Vecchio's narrow body. "Fuck, yeah, Vecchio," he said, thrusting up against his hip. 

_Snick_. Ray jerked, but not fast enough. There was another snick and he was handcuffed to the headboard. "Hey!" he said, outraged. Vecchio rolled off him, sat up, raised those fucking eyebrows of his. Ray's cock jumped. 

"You wanna talk about your problem now? Because I don't have anywhere else I gotta be." 

"Look, is this an interrogation, or are you gonna fuck me?" Ray demanded, yanking on the cuffs until the bones in his wrist started to make unhappy noises. "Ow!" He glared at Vecchio.

Vecchio tilted his head, shrugged out of his coat and jacket and dropped them on the floor. Sat down again by Ray. "Oh, I dunno," he said. "Maybe both."

Which sucked, because Ray was pissed as hell but Ray's body seemed to think that was a pretty fine idea.

"But first, I think maybe I'll break a couple of your fingers." 

Ray was startled into a laugh. "Come off it, Vecchio, we both know you're not gonna break my fingers. You can't bluff me like I'm some dumbass wannabe Iguana." 

For a few seconds Vecchio just looked at him. Ray tried really hard to read his expression, but he couldn't. He needed his fucking glasses. 

Vecchio grinned. "Yeah, okay, I'm not gonna break your fingers." Then he pulled his arm back and socked Ray hard in the gut. Slow enough to give Ray time to tense up his muscles. Hard and fast enough to hurt like a motherfucker. 

"You _bastard_ ," Ray swore, trying to curl up into the fetal position and nearly twisting his wrist in the process. It wasn't the pain. Okay, it was a little the pain. But Ray'd had worse, loads of times, in fights he'd started and fights he hadn't. He'd taken a hockey stick to the stomach by mistake once and it hurt worse than this. But Vecchio--Ray had _trusted_ him.

Vecchio leaned in. And this wasn't the Bookman, but this was not Vecchio, either. At least, this wasn't the Vecchio Ray knew. This was maybe, Ray thought with a sinking feeling, the part of Vecchio that Vecchio had made the Bookman out of. 

"You think I won't hurt you just because we're partners? You think I won't hurt you just because we're fucking? You hit Fraser, didn't you?"

"Me and Fraser weren't fucking," Ray said, trying to grin. "Yet."

There was a spark of something in Vecchio's eyes, and then they narrowed, hard and mean. Maybe he hadn't known. Shit. "Did you like it?" Vecchio asked. "Did you like that flash of pain on his face? He doesn't show anything, and then when he does--" He smiled nastily. "It's a real thrill."

Ray scrabbled backwards as far as he could with his hands cuffed over his head, scrunched up awkwardly against his pillow with his legs pressed tightly together. Because that was something he pretended to himself hadn't happened. He hadn't enjoyed hitting Fraser. It hadn't been his most satisfying moment in months, knowing that for once Fraser was looking at him and listening to him and that the blood in his mouth was something Fraser couldn't think his way around. 

"Take these cuffs off, Vecchio," he said as calmly and authoritatively as he could. "This isn't you."

Vecchio didn't come any closer. He didn't move. Ray didn't know _what_ he did, but it was like he got bigger and scarier anyway. "You think you're the only person who can hurt someone they care about and enjoy it? My pop, he pushed Ma down the stairs once. He was real sorry, practically crying. But I saw the look on his face when he did it. And he may not have wanted her dead, but he sure as hell wanted to kill her."

Jesus. Ray knew by now that every time Vecchio said "my father" something horrifying was going to come out of his mouth, but that was special even for him. He nudged Vecchio gently with his foot. Vecchio blinked. "That was your dad, Vecchio," Ray said. "That wasn't you."

For a second Vecchio just looked incredulous. Then he laughed. "Are you trying to talk me down, Kowalski?" He sounded entertained as hell. "Don't waste your time. Just answer my damn question, or I am going to _really_ enjoy some of your pain. Hey, you might even enjoy it too." He leaned in closer, ran his fingers over Ray's stomach. It hurt, reminded him of the punch, the ache that was still there, and at the same time it sent shivery little flickers of heat all through Ray. "C'mon, what's going on with you? Inquiring minds, et cetera."

Which was about when Ray figured out that Vecchio wasn't fucking around. This wasn't a sex game or a nervous breakdown. Vecchio wanted to know what was up, he didn't have anything better to do with his evening, and he wasn't going to let up till Ray told him. Ray's heart started to pound. 

Well, fuck that. Ray could be just as stubborn as Vecchio. And he refused to be afraid of his partner, even if his partner was scaring the fuck out of him at the moment. Something here was wrong. All his instincts were screaming it at him. Something here did not make sense, and he just had to figure out what it was. "None of your business, asshole."

In one move, Vecchio straddled him. Ray bucked, trying to knock him off, but when he did, his stomach hurt, plus he instinctively tried to use his arms for leverage and one of the cuffs banged into the headboard, tightening a notch. "Ow! You know these things can cause nerve damage, right?"

Vecchio leaned forward to examine Ray's wrists. As he did, that stupid cross fell out of his shirt and dangled just above Ray's mouth. If he lifted his head he could suck on it. Vecchio loved that. Ray gritted his teeth and turned his face away until Vecchio sat back. 

"It's not gonna hurt you if it doesn't tighten more than that," Vecchio said. "So maybe you should stay still." There was a pause, and then he said, low and smug, "I know that's not your strong suit." 

Ray squeezed his eyes shut. Because yeah, he wasn't good at staying still when Vecchio was touching him. Even right now, with an ache in his gut, his terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad erection trapped uncomfortably under his jeans and Vecchio's ass, and a blazing determination not to give Vecchio the satisfaction of--hell, of _anything_ \--he was having to focus on not wriggling. Maybe he had that thing on the infomercials. Restless Leg Syndrome.

Vecchio ground down against him, and Ray's breath hitched. "Somehow I don't think you'd kick me in the head if I tried to fuck you," Vecchio said casually, and did it again.

Ray couldn't help it. He made a stupid, hungry noise. Vecchio snickered. "Dammit, Vecchio, let me go," Ray demanded, burning with mortification and rage. And yeah, lust, but he was ignoring that. He was _ignoring_ it.

"You could just end this now." Vecchio still sounded like he thought the whole thing was funny. That felt wrong, _so_ wrong, but Ray couldn't tell anymore if that was something he could trust, or just a fuckton of betrayal and disappointment. "Come on, telling me whatever it is can't be worse than this, can it?"

"You aren't too good at this torture thing, huh, Vecchio?" Ray said, but he didn't open his eyes. "Bond's usually hanging over the shark tank by now."

He could hear Vecchio smile. "Shark tank, huh? Shoulda known you'd like Roger Moore." He sounded kinda affectionate, which was worse than all the other stuff put together. 

Ray grabbed onto the headboard so his wrists would stay steady and twisted his hips violently, almost dislodging Vecchio--and creating agonizing friction all along his cock. "Get _off_ me!"

He was half-hoping Vecchio would backhand him or punch him again or something. That would distract him from the way Vecchio's ass felt against his dick, from a whitecap of memories of Vecchio letting Ray push into him. Opening for him. It had all been a lie, and it was never going to happen again, and _shit_. 

But Vecchio didn't punch him. Instead he reached down and pinched both of Ray's nipples, hard. "Don't do that again," he said, a sharp edge in his voice. He let go, but his hands stayed there, on Ray's chest. Ray's nipples hurt. They throbbed. Ray's eyes flew open and why was that angry look on Vecchio's face so hot? Stupid, stupid, was he just gonna take this?

He bucked again, biting his tongue to stay quiet as his aching stomach muscles started a picket line and his cock rubbed against his zipper through his boxers. "Get off me, and I won't!"

"Deal." Vecchio climbed off him. 

But Ray relaxed too soon, because in record time Vecchio popped the button on his jeans, undid his zipper, yanked his pants and boxers down until they tangled around his calves. Then he was straddling Ray again, lower down this time, holding Ray's legs down with his body so Ray couldn't kick the pants off. Couldn't kick Vecchio. Couldn't do a fucking thing to hide his dick or how it still seemed pretty happy about this fucked-up state of affairs. Ray felt like there was a spotlight on the damn thing, bobbing along his stomach and poking at the edge of his t-shirt. God knew Vecchio was looking.

"You wanna tell me what's going on now?" Vecchio asked. "Because otherwise, I'm gonna blow you, and you're gonna make some really embarrassing noises."

Ray wasn't sure if he was standing his ground, or if he just wanted Vecchio to blow him more than he wanted this to be over. Whichever it was, he jerked his chin up and threw out, "You know what's going on, Vecchio? I hate your guts."

Vecchio might have flinched. Then again, he might not have. Whatever his reaction was, it was over fast. "You and twenty million other guys." He grabbed Ray's cock and squeezed, just hard enough to hurt. But it hurt in a good way, _Christ_. Ray's hips jerked, but this time it wasn't on purpose.

And fuck, Ray was going with this. Why not? Afterwards, either Vecchio would let him go or he would have to yell until his landlady called the cops and then he'd have to press charges against Vecchio, because he remembered how mad it used to make Stella when women tried to cover for guys that hurt them. So he might as well enjoy one last blowjob before dawn. He opened his eyes. Bared his teeth in a grin. "C'mon, Vecchio. Suck me."

Vecchio ducked his head too fast for Ray to see his expression, and then he swallowed Ray all the way down to where his hand was wrapped around the base. Ray thrust up hard into the too-tight circle of Vecchio's fist, making a strangled noise at the hot, grating pleasure. Vecchio gagged and scraped him lightly with his teeth, a warning, so Ray did it again. He and Vecchio had been so gentle and sweet and now for the rest of his lonely life when he thought of Vecchio it would be this instead--Vecchio gasping angrily around his cock and still not pulling off, Vecchio's other hand shoving his hips into the bed, pressing his nails into skin to keep Ray down so Vecchio could take him deeper. 

Ray was making noise all right. But he wasn't embarrassed, and he wasn't about to hold back any more. Rage and sex and pain were all coming together, there was a red haze behind his eyelids, and then Vecchio _sucked_ and Ray's will broke. He didn't warn Vecchio, just shot in his mouth, and Vecchio sputtered and choked and spit semen all over his hand and Ray's stomach and thighs. He pulled off, coughing, but he kept on pumping Ray with his hand, hard and fast, as Ray shattered into tiny, tiny pieces. Or maybe melted, or exploded, or some other image to do with breaking and loud noises and _heat_ , oh _fuck_.

Vecchio took his hand off Ray. Didn't clean it off, just laid it on his pressed-and-creased thigh with Ray's come all over it. Then he took a shuddering breath and said hoarsely, "You gonna tell me what's up?"

Ray was too dazed to do more than shake his head.

Vecchio's jaw tightened. "All right, that's it, I'm leaving you here. Is that what you want?" He wiped his hand on the sheets and pushed himself off the bed. His lips were pink and wet. 

Ray felt wrung out, weirdly relaxed. "It's not what I want, Vecchio," he said tiredly. "It's just what's gonna happen."

He knew it was a mistake the second the words were out, but shit, he had no resistance _left_. He ached all over, even though he was probably pumped to bursting with endorphins, and he wanted a hot shower and sleep. There was a long, long pause while Vecchio stared and stared and Ray could _see_ the wheels turning in that bald head.

"Yeah, people leave you an awful lot, don't they, Kowalski? Your dad, Stella, Fraser. Me, apparently. What do you do to them?"

It wasn't quite right, but it was close enough. Ray shrugged. "You should know better than me. I can just see all of you hanging out. Stella'd say, 'Can you imagine, he actually wanted to buy a house and have kids. We'd only been together twenty years, it was ridiculous.' And then Fraser'd be all, 'He wanted us to build a double bed in our freezing cold cabin. I'd like to know what's wrong with a sturdy RCMP-issue cot.' And..." He trailed off.

"Hey, that was a pretty good Fraser. Do me. What do I say?"

Turned out Ray did have some mad left. Hey, Ray always had some mad left. "You tell me, Vecchio! 'Cause I have tried so fucking hard with you! I have not asked you for jack, I have tried not to dump on you, I have been a fun, supportive boyfriend! And it _still_ ends with you fucking me over." 

And as easy as that, Ray was crying. He turned his face to the side so he didn't choke on his own snot, because he couldn't fucking sit up. "Oh, Christ. I cannot believe this is happening. Just go already and leave me to my humiliation."

"What the fuck?" Vecchio said in a different voice. He came closer, looked at Ray. 

"Are you happy now, Vecchio? I _told_ you to fucking go home, but no, you had to stay and pick on me till I was crying. This your idea of a fun Friday night? This the big reveal you were hoping for? Kowalski bawls like a baby and talks about his abandonment issues?"

There was silence. Ray tried to blink away enough tears to see Vecchio's face and shit, his whole expression had changed. He was goggling at Ray, classic Vecchio incredulity, and then he collapsed on the edge of the bed.

"You're serious. Fuck, are you serious? That's _it_? You've been moping for weeks, I just pulled out every last fucking Bookman stop, because you feel insecure about our _relationship_?" He pulled out his handcuff key and unlocked Ray's wrists. He passed Ray the Kleenex box and then just sat back on the edge of the bed and stared disbelievingly at the floor.

Ray sat up, rubbing at his wrists and blowing his nose. Vecchio had won, and the truth made Ray look like an idiot, so why wasn't he happy? 

"Look, can I get you some ice or tiger balm or something? And then I'll go, I promise. Or I'll go now, whatever." And Ray knew this floor-staring pissed-off-and-defeated-sounding Vecchio. This was post-Bookman Vecchio. 

And then _snick_ , it fell into place, the thing that had been wrong. "You hate doing bad cop." If Vecchio got off on being an asshole and pushing people around--well, Vecchio would enjoy his job a lot more, and Ray would spend a lot less time giving Vecchio backrubs.

And Vecchio hadn't gotten off, had he?

Vecchio shrugged. "Yeah, so?" He was still looking at the floor. 

Ray took that opportunity to dab at his crotch with some Kleenex and pull his pants back on. He winced a little. Hello, chafing. "So then what gives?"

"I was _worried_ about you, you moron. I thought you might need backup. I figured best-case scenario was blackmail."

Blackmail? Was Vecchio living in a Humphrey Bogart movie? "What was worst-case scenario, I killed your wife for the insurance money?"

Vecchio didn't even roll his eyes. Just rubbed his hand over his head in that way he did, that way that drove Ray crazy. And his hand was shaking. "Either Stella getting married again, or you had lung cancer, I couldn't figure out which was worse from your perspective. But your doctor wanted a warrant before releasing your medical records, so--"

Ray blinked. "You know I _quit_ smoking to be you, right?"

"Yeah, well, it takes ten to fifteen years for your cancer risk to be near a normal person's, Kowalski," Vecchio snapped. "Look, do we have to drag this out? I recognize the essential irony of me fucking up our relationship when all you wanted was to go official or whatever, but I'd really rather--shit, Kowalski, please just kick my ass or report me or whatever you want so I can get out of here, okay?"

Vecchio had been worried about him. Vecchio was gonna go home and try to pull _himself_ out of his post-Bookman crazy because he thought Ray was dumping him. Which Ray guessed he should be doing right about now. But. Vecchio'd thought Ray would dump him and he'd done this anyway because he was worried. Vecchio was freaking out. "That wasn't the Bookman," Ray said slowly.

Vecchio shook his head. "Like you were gonna be scared by my Bookman routine. You gotta--" He met Ray's eye for the first time in a while. "You gotta mean bad cop too, Kowalski. You have to make the guy forget that you can't and you wouldn't and you got rules, you gotta make him believe that you can and you will and you don't give a shit. So it's gotta be real. That was all me."

"You didn't hurt me," Ray said.

Vecchio stared. "Look at you, Kowalski! You're covered in bruises!"

Ray looked down. Yeah, there were marks on his hip and a bruise starting to show on his stomach, his wrists were raw and he'd bet money his nipples were too, except then Fraser would arrest him for gambling. It--well, he kind of liked the way it looked. Always _had_ liked how he looked after a fight. "I used to box, dumbass, this is nothing. You want me to sock you one too, that make you feel better?"

"You shouldn't be trying to make me feel better," Vecchio muttered.

He jumped up, pointed a couple of fingers at Vecchio. His turn to be bad cop. "Great, then I won't. So you make _me_ feel better, Vecchio. You tell me exactly how you feel about this. Us. What we got going." 

Vecchio jumped off the bed and started backing away. "Jesus. I knew you were needy, but this is insane, Kowalski! What would I have to do to get you to dump me?"

Ray's eyes narrowed. He went after Vecchio, backed him up against the wall. "So first you cuffed me and hit me for my own good, and now you're breaking up with me for my own good? Fuck you, Vecchio. You ever try anything like this again, well, I don't got your ethical preserves about violence. I will beat the shit out of you. But you didn't hurt me bad and the sex was good and we are a couple of fuck-ups, Vecchio. You expect that to change any time soon? I'll leave if-slash-when I need to. And right now, I'm good."

"You've never left anybody in your life, Kowalski. They've got a word for that, you kn--"

"Bullshit. I left Fraser."

Ray was leaning in far enough that Vecchio was in perfect focus for the expression of total shock that crossed his face. "You did?"

Ray backed up a little, rubbed at his arm. "Yeah. He--uh. It wasn't ever gonna be what I wanted. The more I tried for, the less he--He couldn't say I love you. He could say 'me too' but. And he couldn't admit he needed me. I said I was going and he just straightened his shoulders and understood."

Vecchio's mouth twisted. "Fraser doesn't need us."

"Yeah. Yeah he does," Ray insisted, even though Vecchio was the one who talked to Fraser every week and he'd had the nerve to call the guy approximately three times since he got back from Canada. But Christ, Vecchio said it like maybe he thought they were just here because Fraser'd dumped them, because they weren't _good_ enough. Because _Vecchio_ wasn't good enough, and that was _bullshit_.

Vecchio didn't say anything for a long time. Just looked at Ray with his big dark eyes. "Okay." He took in a breath. "I love you. I--shit, I need you, Kowalski."

The punch, Ray could handle. But _that_ was a fucking knockout. "Say it, mean it," Ray warned.

"Christ, Kowalski, how did you think I feel? You wanna move in together? You wanna come out at the station? What? What do I gotta do to convince you? I never wanted a fun, supportive boyfriend, Kowalski. I want a _partner_."

Any second Ray was gonna swoon with relief at the insane right turn this evening was taking and that was _not_ cool, not cool at all. He shoved down his exhilaration and double-checked. "So if I told you to call Fraser right now and tell him about us, you'd do it?"

There was a long silence. Yeah, this right here was why you should always get a receipt. Then Vecchio said, "You haven't told Fraser about us yet?"

"You have?"

"Well, sure. I mean, it's not like he wasn't gonna figure it out. He'd hear it in the way I said your name or something. Benny's telepathic."

The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, like _he_ could hear the difference in the way he said Ray's name--Ray leaned in, nuzzled against Vecchio's neck. Let Vecchio take some of his weight. Vecchio sighed and let his head fall back against the wall. "I need a shower," Ray told his Adam's apple. "Wanna come with?"

"Yeah," Vecchio said shakily. "Yeah, a shower sounds good."

"And I do have some tiger balm." He had some of Fraser's gunk, too, but it was probably rancid by now. "So maybe after that you could, uh, rub it on me?"

"If you--sure."

"And then there's cold pizza. Man, I missed cold pizza in Canada."

Vecchio smiled. Jackpot. "I think they're showing 'Moonraker' on TNT tonight," he offered, sounding almost normal.

"Greatness, we're watching it." 

"You are so weird, Kowalski. Bond is in space. He is fighting a guy with metal teeth in space, how do you take that seriously?"

"Seriously whatever, Vecchio, space is awesome. Plus the metal teeth guy gets saved by the power of love in the end. It's sweet."

"Yeah," Vecchio said, a weird mixture of resignation and sarcasm and softness in his voice. "Sweet." He put up his hand and wrapped it around the back of Ray's wrist, didn't meet Ray's eyes. Brought Ray's wrist to his lips and kissed the bruises, slow and one-by-one. And then he did look at Ray, his mouth smushed against Ray's pulse. Open and serious and daring Ray to say hand-kissing was a little too faggy. But Ray just shifted his hand so he was cupping Vecchio's cheek, and Vecchio closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.


End file.
